


Hunters Curse

by This_kitty_has_claws



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, F/M, Graphic Mentions of Blood, Mentions of Pregnancy, Smut, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-04-22
Packaged: 2019-03-18 08:44:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13678251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/This_kitty_has_claws/pseuds/This_kitty_has_claws
Summary: You have known Sam and Dean most of your life, Hunted with them, loved them as brothers, Dean was your weak point, the person you would give up anything for, after a drunken night of debauchery, unexpected news throws your life out of balance and you need to make some hard decisions.





	1. Chapter 1

This could not be happening. It was impossible. You were sure you had taken the necessary steps to ensure this would never happen. The life you led had no room for attachments, regardless of how desperately you wanted them. Especially with a certain green-eyed hunter. 

You knew the likelihood of Dean seeing you as more was relatively nonexistent. There was a moment, a brief, flickering glimmer of hope, not two months past when you’d thought differently. A night of drunken sex fueled by whiskey and a bad hunt had stroked the embers of a dying flame and before you could fully grasp it, your crush had turned into full on love and two pink lines on the small test you held. You supposed you always loved him, but you were too set in your specified roles to ever voice it out loud. 

You were ten when John found you terrified and blood-soaked in your home, your parents dead and cold before you. Your father was not a good man by all accounts and had gotten on the wrong side of a coven of witches. Your parents had died bloody and screaming. You could hardly tell they were human at all by the time the curse had run its course. 

For reasons which still escaped you, John had taken you with him, you were ten at the time, a wisp of a child. Traumatised and alone, you hadn't fought him on it. In return, he’d treated you as his own. He’d trained you, taught you everything he knew, and by the time you were twelve you were accompanying him and Dean on hunts. The latter being only a few years older than yourself. 

Dean treated you as the annoying little sister. He deterred unwanted suitors and heckled you when you made a mistake. He narrowed in your well being with a single-minded focus you had come to admire. But, he remained unattainable to you. 

Sam had become your closest companion and your confidant. He was a year older than yourself, and closely guarded by his brother and father. While you were hunting with his family, Sam remained at whichever dingy motel John had chosen, nose deep in lore books. It was a sticking point, a sore spot between the two of you and had often caused loud screaming matches between father and son. 

Your sixteenth birthday had seen a drastic change in your appearance. Puberty had hit suddenly and with it had come to the unnerving realization that Dean was unbearably attractive. And he knew it. 

It marked the start of years of pining. You would moon, and Dean would ignore it, choosing instead to treat you as his sister even if his touch lingered a little too long on the small of your back. Even when you could feel his eyes watching you across the bar, ignoring whichever floozy he had picked up for the night. You chalked it up to wishful thinking and Dean’s overprotectiveness. 

Five years later and you were still mooning and, to your abject horror, pregnant. 

Biting your lip nervously, you think back to the hazy night in question. The memory was a blur. You remember holding a condom clumsily between your fingers, Dean had drunkenly torn open the packet with his teeth and smirked before it all whited out into a haze of pleasure. 

But it couldn't be. You had been on birth control for years, taking the little pill religiously. You never missed a day. You couldn't afford to get knocked up. Not with Demons and Angels hounding your ass. You had read stories though, accounts of women who, to their surprise had ended up with a bun in the oven even on birth control. 

Well butter my butt and call me a biscuit. 

You had two choices. You could stay, and tell Dean that his drunken mistake had resulted in an unwanted pregnancy, the mother being the girl he helped raise, or you could leave. Regroup. You had never been on your own, Sam and Dean were always close, but this was your chance to get out. To live the apple pie life and be monster free. 

The thought sends a hot trickle of nausea rolling in your gut. 

This life was what you wanted. You’d never wanted anything else. You were a hunter. You killed things that killed other people. Saved lives. You had never wanted normal. 

Panicked and grief-stricken, you grab a piece of paper off your nightstand and with shaky fingers you pen a brief explanation to Sam, leaving out the baby news. He would come looking if he knew. 

Moose, 

At Jodie’s. Need some girl time.

I took your car. Don't come looking. 

My phones on. See you in a couple of days.

Love, 

Y/N

Tearing the sheet of paper from the notepad, you stumble into Sam's room and place the note on his pillow before sinking to your knees to grope under his wire-framed bed, searching for the key he kept duct taped to the frame. 

With a yank, it comes free. You rise shakily to your feet and stumble out of his bedroom to rush into yours. Hurriedly, you grab your go bag. All three of you kept emergency supplies stashed in a duffel at your bedroom doors. The bunker was warded and relatively safe, but you could never be too careful. 

As an afterthought you stuff the test into your front pocket and grab the gun Dean had gifted you for your twenty-first birthday, stuffing it in with the rest. 

It takes you five minutes to get to the garage where the sleek, black 2006 SRT8 dodge charger Sam loved so much was parked. It rarely saw any use anymore and was a reminder of a darker time. One you didn't particularly want to dwell on. 

Shoving the dark thoughts aside, you climb in and the loud whine of the engine sends a pleasurable thrill up your spine. Savoring it for a moment, you take a deep breath when trepidation makes an unwanted appearance. Clamping down on it, you put pedal to the metal and race out into the Kansas night, uncertain if you will ever see your boys again.


	2. Chapter 2

The first two days were torture. You turned your phone off somewhere after the third irate voicemail from Dean and a rather confused message from Jodie. Apparently, Dean had phoned her immediately after Sam discovered your note, and he wasn’t happy you had lied. 

You merely curled up into a ball in response. The flea-bitten and mangled mattress of your one-star motel room offering a modicum of comfort.

His voice kept ringing in your head. It was a voice which had lent comfort for most of your life. A voice you had fallen in love with. A sonorous balm to the wounds which swelled and festered in your heart. 

Dean was your security blanket. He was your person. You dealt a hard blow to your relationship when you left. A severing of the bond was created when you refused to answer his calls. You were his responsibility, his to protect. Like all of the people Dean cared about, he would blame himself something fierce if something were to befall you. 

It made you sick to your stomach. Yet, here you were, much too afraid to go back and face the music, and too afraid to move forward. You were stuck in a limbo, terrified about what it meant to be pregnant and have the worlds supernatural community gunning for you. 

There was a reason hunters didn't procreate. The life expectancy wasn't great and the perks were even worse.

Hugging your chest to your knees, a sob escapes your lips. You were never one to cry. The emotion was not your forte, but years of pent-up frustration, anger, and loss escaped in a wave. Soon, your shaking and loud hiccups puncture the silent sobs. 

Hair sticks to your face, and your eyes are bloodshot. A wry giggle makes it past the pain when you realize how ridiculous you must look. Unfolding yourself from the fetal position, you sit stiffly upright. A pounding headache flares to life and you groan at your own stupidity.

You needed a distraction. Something that would take your mind off your growing problem. Something which would take your mind off of Dean and Sam. You missed them terribly and it had only been a few days. 

Mind made up, you reach down to the floor and pick up the laptop bag you had thrown there when you’d arrived. You were well equipped to take down anything, be it Demon or Djinn. All the vehicles in the bunkers garage were stacked with the equipment you needed. Baby had been out of action one too many times to rely on for a quick getaway. 

It pissed Dean off something awful when you had suggested planning alternate escape routes with alternate vehicles. His attachment to his car bordered on the obsessive. 

It brought a slight smile to your face. He was such a dork. It was adorable.

The smile falls as you realize your current position. Alone and running from the Winchesters. You would most likely never see them again. A lifetime of love shared between the three of you shattered because you couldn't keep it in your pants. Shutting the lid of your laptop firmly, you decide that food and copious amounts of chocolate were in order.

Rising from the bed, you make your way into the small motel bathroom and splash icy water on your face before taking a deep, fortifying breath and lift your head to stare at your reflection. 

You were better than this. Stronger than this. Falling to pieces in a shitty motel room was not you. You were worth more than this. Decision made, you give yourself one last lingering look before hurrying from the room, a sense of desperate determination racing in your veins. 

You were going to make this work.

*****

Two weeks later.

It was numbing. You went through each hunt with a detachment which would most likely infuriate Dean and cause Sam to worry. 

Currently, you were covered in vamp brains. It was a small nest, only five vampires. None of them were particularly bright, snatching teenage girls from their bedrooms and leaving forensic evidence in their wake. It was stupidly easy to track them down and dose them with dead man's blood by firing arrows dipped in it from afar, then beheading them as they lay incapacitated.

The hunt had lost its appeal. It wasn't the same without family. You were lonely and, if you were completely honest with yourself, losing the plot a bit. But… you were free. For the first time in your life, you were experiencing what it felt like to be completely free. 

There was no hierarchy here. You did not have three overbearing men trying to protect you from everything that went bump in the night. Sam wasn't trying to shove Kale smoothies down your throat and forcing you to go on runs. Dean wasn't making you strip weapons three times a day or forcing you to spar. Cas was not attempting to heal stubbed toes or papercuts. 

But there was also no movie nights or intense debates on the latest Game Of Thrones episode. There was no arguing over what qualified as classic rock. You missed Deans cooking, and his quiet intelligence. You missed Sams often overlooked wit and his secret nerd side. You missed Cas’s innocence and his perceptiveness. You missed your family and everything that meant.

Sighing heavily, you wipe your bloodied blade on your trousers, your ears straining to pick up any sounds in the woods. A slight rustling catches your attention, and you stall your movements. 

Every muscle tenses in anticipation of a fight. Your grip tightens on the handle of your blade. The only sound you can hear is the intense beating of your heart in your ears. You don't dare turn around. You don't dare blink. Your eyes scan the wood for an easy point of escape. Any alternative if you should lose your weapon. You notice a heavy branch laying on the dirt floor.

Option one, your mind supplies. Your eyes fall on a rock to the right side of the branch. Option two.

“(Y/N),” a deep voice greets. 

Your body relaxes. Your grip on the handle loosens as your mind automatically resets. A slight flare of fear runs up your spine. You were almost sure he was here to take you home. Somewhere you couldn't go. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

“Hey, Cas. Long time no see.”


	3. Chapter 3

Turning to face the motionless angel, your grip tightens on the blade in your hand, prepared to fight for your freedom. Cas was no slouch in the combat department, what with him being a soldier for God and all, but there was no way in hell you were going back. 

You missed them all terribly. There were days you felt like the pain of their absence would split you in two. It was a living thing under your skin, ever moving, reminding you of what you gave up. 

What if’s constantly ran through your mind. What if you had told Dean the truth? What if you told him how you felt about him? Would he have reciprocated? Would he have rejected you? You would never know. It was useless to speculate. 

“We’ve been looking for you, but you were warded,” he says, his face betraying slight hurt at your decision to hide yourself from him.

You shared a unique relationship with Cas. You were the one who had patiently explained the pizza man reference after Dean introduced him to pay per view. You had taken him shopping, determined to get the dreaded trench coat off of him. 

He’d endured it all with a detached interest, or so you thought, until one day Cas casually remarked that your jeans and t-shirt didn't compliment each other, and perhaps a muted blue would suit you better? 

You arch a perfectly groomed eyebrow in his direction. “There was a reason for the warding Cas. I didn't want nosy angels whooshing me back to the bunker,” you answer sarcastically. 

Cas cocks his head to the side in confusion. “Why would you hide from me? Dean says friends don’t ignore each other.” 

Cursing your distractedness, you purse your lips tightly. “Dean says, huh?” you reply in amusement. “I warded myself because I didn't want to be found, Cas, even by you.” 

Cas takes a step toward you, his arms outstretched in front of him. Whether his intention was to embrace you or whisk you back to the bunker is unclear, so you take a step back, raising your blade in front of you in a defensive position, ignoring the dripping blood from the hand concealed behind your back. The sigil you had chosen to draw in the bark of the tree behind you was nearly finished. Soon, you would be free to hightail it out of dodge. 

Cas stops a look of hurt filtering across his features. 

“I don’t want to fight you, Cas. I’ll lose, I know, but I’m not going back. Don't try and make me,” you warn. “I know you don't understand, and I really wish I could explain it to you, but I’ve got places to be and things to kill. So I'm going to cut this little reunion short and skedaddle.” 

Your about to place your palm flat on the bark when Cas’s forehead crinkles downward, his gaze meets yours, a burning look of anger clear in them. He knows, you know he knows. A soft rustling follows the action, causing your eyes to widen before you’re wrenched forward, scrambling to complete the spell which would banish Cas to a different part of the country. 

The landscape blurs into a mass of muted colors. The stars overhead morphing into blinding white light. Your stomach rolls dangerously. As if a hook had been placed behind your navel and someone had yanked you upward. You fight down the urge to spew your modest dinner into the void. You would never live it down if you did.

Your rump hits cool vinyl, and you grab onto the table in front of you to steady yourself. The room tips dangerously sideways like you had climbed too far into a whiskey bottle. You shake your head from side to side, trying to clear the dizziness from your mind and blink furiously while nausea snakes its way up your throat.

“I am going to kill you,” you gasp out. “I’m going to rip your oblivious angel butt to pieces. Not even Chuck will be able to put you back together.” 

Cas’s ice blue eyes stare you down, pining you to the tacky red chair he plopped you in. “You are being overly dramatic. I can reform from the most minuscule particle without the aid of Chuck.” 

Rolling your eyes and immediately regretting the decision, you drag a hand through your twig strewn hair. “That’s not what I meant,” you hiss. 

“I don’t understand.” he monotones. 

“How many times have I told you; No zapping me places!”

“Four hundred and eighty-three times,” Cas replies. 

You stare at him in mildly concussed confusion until you remember who you’re speaking to. Sighing, you glance around the room. “Cas, why are we in a Big Belly Burger?” you ask carefully. 

He shrugs. “You did not want to go home. Dean assures me they way to get you to talk is through processed cheese and pork products.”

“I don't want a burger, Cas, and you shouldn’t be taking advice on women from Dean. I want to go back to my motel room and take a shower. I want you to stop looking for me, and I really, really want a tequila shot.” 

Cas stares absently out of the window. “I do not believe this establishment sells alcohol.” 

You clamp down on the rising frustration and level Cas with a glare so fierce, he flinches. “Can we cut to the chase, feathers? I’m not going back to the bunker. If you take me back, I will run, and I will keep running. This is not a fight you can win, Castiel.”

Cas’s eyes flash with heavenly light before it fades away. “Dean and Sam assure me you have not fought. There was no need for you to run. If you want my help, you’ll tell me the truth.”

“I was feeling smothered. I needed a break.”

“I can tell when you’re lying, (Y/N).”

Groaning loudly, you slam your fist onto the table, drawing the attention of the sparse, midnight crowd. They scowl haughtily in your direction before turning their attention back to their plates. “Can you not just trust me, Cas? Holy Jeez of Nazarene, can’t I need distance from the Winchesters?” 

Cas contemplates your words carefully. His eyes glaze over slightly as he runs through the probabilities.

“It is possible, although unlikely. You are in love with Dean, and you love Sam like he’s your blood. You have died for them. Bled for them. You are lying to me. I’m taking you back.” He rises from his chair, his fingers outstretched toward your forehead. 

You swat his hand away, staring at him in horror. “You know? Who else knows? Does he know? Oh, god!” you exclaim in panic, mortified by how obvious you must have been with your affections. 

He knew. Dean knew. It was never supposed to go past one drunken mistake. He was never supposed to know how much you would give up for him. How deeply you loved him. But if Cas could figure it out, no doubt Dean would too, and Dean was the most oblivious man in the world. For all his charm and suave with women, true and honest affection from the opposite sex left him stumped and stuttering. 

“Dean doesn’t know. He believes your affections are friendly. Your mind is… loud when you are around him. It's hard not to listen. I do not understand your hesitation to return to your family. Unless it's not Dean and Sam you’re avoiding. Have I angered you, (Y/N)?” Cas asks sincerely, and for a moment you feel an overwhelming sense of guilt. 

He couldn't truly think he did something to drive you away? Were you that heartless in your dealings with him? 

“No!” you assert firmly. “Cas you haven't made me angry. No one has. I need you to understand that okay?” 

He nods, the relaxing of his shoulders letting you know just how badly this had weighed on him. 

Swallowing the guilt lumping in your throat, you decide to go for broke.”Cas, please. I can’t go back to the bunker. I’ve never been on my own, I’ve always been under their protection. I don't know who I am without them. And I..” you take a deep breath, “I’m pregnant. With Dean’s child. He can’t know.” 

Cas sits back down. His gaze scans your body, and his brow rumples in confusion. “You are not pregnant, (Y/N). I sense no fetus.” 

You stare at him in shock. Your mouth opening and closing in utter speechlessness.

“Are you having a stroke?” Cas asks in concern, once again rising from his chair, his fingers hovering in front of you. His usually smooth features pinch with worry. 

You begin to laugh, uproariously, astounded by your own stupidity, but it sounds hollow to your ears. You never bothered to go to the doctor. Never cared to have your condition confirmed. There's a slight sting of disappointment which mingles with the relief you feel, but it's barely noticeable. Never have you had any inclination toward having children. 

Wiping at the tears streaming from your eyes, you grin sadly at Castiel. “I”m fine, Cas. I promise.” A giggle escapes your lips, followed by hysterical hiccups, a trait you developed early in your life. The smile disappears from your face as the reality of the situation sinks in. 

You had destroyed your family because you’d panicked. “Oh, this is just great. What a mess I’ve made.”,” you comment idly, staring down at the lamented menu left on the table by a distracted waitress. You fiddle with a dog-eared corner, trying to wrap your head around the news. 

“It’s not unsalvageable, (Y/N). They will forgive you if you explain it to them.” 

You shake your head sadly. “I meant what I said, Cas. I’m not going back. It’s… I’m not...”

“It’s Dean.”

Smiling affectionately at the angel you dip your head. “Yeah, Dean. Cas, look, I’ll check in as often as I can, but I’m not going back. I don't know who I am without them. I need to figure out what type of hunter I am, what kind of woman I am on my own. I can’t do that if I’m mooning over a man who can’t see me as anything but a kid sister. I need to get over him,” you sigh sadly. “I need to process. The baby...while not ideal considering who I am… I can't explain it. I’m a little sad.” 

“They won’t stop looking. Dean was convinced Crowley had taken you. They’ve been demon hunting since Dean got off the phone with Jodie. He will want an explanation.”

“I know. Tell him… tell him I don’t want to be found. Tell him...” Blinking back the tears forming in the corner of your eyes, you raise your gaze to meet his. “Tell Dean I couldn’t do it anymore. That I’m tired of being cannon fodder for the Winchester brothers. Tell him I want to be left alone. I never want to see them again. Tell them I’m not hunting. Tell them I’m safe.” 

“You want me to lie to them?” Cas asks in disbelief, the first real crack of humanity appearing. 

“Yes. I know they wont stop, Cas. They can’t spend the rest of their lives looking for me. The world needs the Winchester. They need to be focused. They can’t be who they need to be when they’re worried about me.” 

Cas nods slowly, but a look of unease passes across his face. 

“Please, Cas. You have to make it hurt. Make them hate me.” 

Cas grimaces. “Very well. I’ll leave you be, on one condition.” 

A hint of dread crawls up your spine. “Go on then.”

“You will call me if ever you are in trouble. I am… fond of you. I would see you safe.” 

Reaching across the table you grasp his hand in your own. “I promise, Cas. You know, for an angel, you’re a big ol’ softy.” 

Cas eyes dance with humor. He winks and In a moment he’s gone, leaving you alone in the burger joint, sad yet somewhat relieved at the night's turn of events. 

Flagging down the waitress, your order a bacon and cheese burger, ignoring the breaking of your heart and the overwhelming surety that you had destroyed your own life, as well as destroying two others.


	4. Chapter 4

5 years later.

It wasn't your best idea to be sure. Taking on a werewolf pack by yourself was probably the stupidest thing you had ever done. In your defense there were no other hunters in the area and the pack had gone rogue, attacking humans. 

Men and women alike, were showing up dead with their hearts ripped out. You were certain the colloidal silver you spiked the towns water supply with would do the trick, but apparently, it didn't work that way. 

Which is how you found yourself in a medieval torture chamber. Complete with a pear of torture and a rack.

Your torturer was enthusiastic. You had to hand it to him. He carved into you with an unparalleled zeal, flaying the very meat from your bones. 

You were drifting in and out of consciousness. The pain entering into every nerve ending. It was so intense you couldn't even scream. There was no reprieve for when one would tire, another would take his place. It seemed the pack had a proclivity for violence, and they were psychopathically good at it.

You were out of options. Soon they would grow tired of you. Then, they would either turn you or eat you. Either was a death sentence. 

You were loathe to admit it, but you were terrified. It was an all encompassing fear, one which rendered you helpless. You needed an out, needed a way to escape, but after several days, none had presented itself. 

You heave an internal sigh of relief when the torturer places his implements on the tray with a clang. He doesn't look at you when he leaves. You were beneath him. A pound of flesh which would soon grace his table.

You had a few hours before the next one would show up. A few hours to get yourself out of this mess. There wasn't much of you left to save in all honesty, but there was no way in hell you were being served as wolf chow.

“Cas,” you croak. “Cas, I need help. I’m at the old Ruskal farm in Lebanon. I’m being held by werewolves.” A wracking cough bubbles its way up your throat, bringing with it blood and bits of tissue. You were going to die. You knew you were going to die if he didn't help you. “Cas, they’re going to kill me,” you whisper painfully. “I’m afraid, Castiel.”

There was no way out. This was a hunter’s end. A hunter's curse. One which had been on the table from the day John had taken you from the house in which your parents had died. Thoughts of John stir a painful longing in your gut. A completely different Winchester’s face floating in front of your eyes.

The last five years had been painful. The seperation you had created between yourself and the brothers seemed to rip a hole deep in your heart. 

Sam had tried at first, calls and texts were non stop. You never replied and soon they dwindled to once a week, then to once a month. Then they stopped completely. You still found yourself checking your phone for his name. An action which had you feeling ashamed and lonely. 

Dean had been silent from the beginning. He never attempted to make contact. It was his silence which hurt the most, though you couldn't blame him. You did tell him to shove off after all.

That didn't mean you didn't keep tabs. You were fastidious in checking up on them. The rumours horrified you. Dean had died twice more. Mary had come back from the dead only to be taken from them. The men of letters had tried to kill the Winchesters, Lucifer had a son, and Sam had suffered. It took every ounce of willpower you possessed not to pack your meagre belongings and head straight back to Kansas. 

Cas, on one of his monthly visits convinced you not to. They didn't need distractions.

Your life wasn't without happiness. You had a few friends. Claire and Donna became your rocks, your anchor to the real word. They broke up the cycle of endless blood and death. 

You also had a brief affair with a hunter in Arkansas, which ended on a friendly note. He wanted out, and you couldn't stop. You grew as a hunter and as a person, finding a delicate balance between killing and living. 

But the absence of the boys was ever present at the back of your mind. Like a song you couldn't remember. The tune played on an endless loop, but you could never quite pick out the words.

Dean, however, Dean’s absence was the hardest to bear. His name alone set your heart on fire. Your love for him never faded. No matter how hard you begged the Gods, no matter how loudly you screamed and raged, he stayed ingrained in your blood, seared into your mind. His face appeared in your dreams nearly every night. 

You missed his laugh, the way his eyes would crinkle at the corners when he smiled. You missed his corny jokes and quiet strength.

Time only seemed to strengthen the intensity with which you craved him. The reasons for running all seemed so stupid now. You could barely remember why you ran in the first place. You wanted to go home. You wanted to take it all back. You wanted quiet nights in the bunker, with popcorn and whiskey. You wanted heated debates on classic rock and whether or not sharknado constituted as a horror movie.

Gratefully, you let the creeping darkness take over. The edges of your vision blurred into a black haze. Your last thought as you passed out was how badly you didn't want to wake up.

*****

The absence of pain immediately shook you into consciousness. You go completely limp, straining your senses for any sounds. There were no restraints around your wrists or ankles. Presumably someone had moved you from the dungeon, pumped you full of blessed painkillers, and you were about to be eaten. 

The hushed voices coming from behind a door at the other side of the room alert you to the presence of others. Men by the sound of it. 

Discreetly moving your limbs, you decide that yes, you could probably run, find backup, and return to kill every last one of these motherfuckers, and be in Sioux falls in a couple of hours. You deserved a few days of downtime.

Sitting silently upright, you scan the room for weapons. Your gaze hits a blood stained machete on the nightstand and you lurch forward to grab it in shaky hands. The window was your best option, and you shuffle as quietly as you can toward it, your heart pounding in your chest. Adrenaline pumps through your veins. Your brain has not yet caught up with your miraculous recovery. Not in a thousand years did you think you would ever get out of this alive.

The door on the other side of the room swings open. In your peripheral you see three men walking through it and in reflex you hurl your machete at the closest mark you can. Which happens to be a dour looking Dean WInchester.

Castiel grabs Dean by the back of the shirt and yanks him sideways, the machete barely misses his head by a centimeter. His eyes move from the machete to you and back again. His fists clenched angrily at his sides. “What the hell!?” he yells. 

His eyes darkening with rage, his brother places a soothing hand on his shoulder. A quiet “Dean,” is the only sound in the room.

Dean sets his jaw in a hard line. Sam pushes his brother behind him, his face neutral, not betraying a inch of emotion.

“So much for not hunting anymore, huh, (Y/N)?” Sam snarls viciously. 

A nervous laugh bubbles up your throat. Your gaze shifts from Sam to Dean, and you’re barely able to look them in the eye. This was not what you expected or wanted. Deciding your best course of action was to ignore the two angry men in front of you, you focus your attention on the angel standing mutely beside them. 

“What happened?” you ask quietly. 

Cas’s gaze instinctively moves to Dean before he fixes it on you. “Jack heard your prayer. He alerted Sam and Dean to your predicament. I followed soon after.” 

“Jack’s here?” you ask, instantly brightening at the sound of the young nephilims name. 

Jack pokes his head from behind the door, his bright eyes shining with excitement. “(Y/N)!” he greets, grinning widely. 

You open your arms for an embrace. Jack takes no time in closing the distance between you. “Well, hello handsome!” you giggle happily. 

Jack lifts you into the air, places a soft kiss to your cheek before setting you down on your feet once more. 

“You should be resting,” he chastises lightly, leading you back to the bed you had risen from. 

“I need to get back to Sioux Falls, Jacky boy. Wanna give me a lift?” 

Jack begins to respond but is quickly cut off by Dean. 

“No. Nah uh. No one is leaving until I have answers. I think we’re owed that.” 

Your heart hammers in your chest. Fear and elation mingle into a hot ball. “Dean, please,” you plead, your eyes meeting his for the first time. 

They’re greener than you remember. Bruises and cuts litter his usually perfect features, a pang of guilt worms its way into your heart as you realise he’d taken on a pack of werewolves to get you to safety. 

Jack looks worriedly down at your weakened form. A slight frown gracing his smooth features. 

“Start talking,” Dean bites out through gritted teeth. 

You swallow thickly, weighing your options. You were stuck, once again, this time having no option but to face them head on. 

“Alright,” you conceed. “Don’t get your knickers in a twist, Winchester.” Dean rolls his eyes and folds his arms across his chest. “I..Uh..I..” you stutter. Taking a deep breath, you steel yourself for your next words, knowing they would wound instead of heal.

To your horror, and slight relief, what comes out isn't what you intended. 

“Got any Whiskey?”


	5. Chapter 5

Dean throws his hands in the air in clear frustration. His entire body is rigid with anger when he stalks toward you, closing the distance in a few long strides. His body language screams hunter, and you wonder idly when you changed from friend to foe. 

How long had he let your absence fester in his heart? How badly did he blame himself for your harsh words? How much of the hatred he carried was aimed toward you? You knew him well enough to recognize the signs of the acidic self-loathing he kept hidden from the world. You never stopped to consider whether or not Dean would blame himself for your departure. Never once did you think beyond yourself and what you needed.

He stops in front of you and straightens his spine. He stares you down, a tactic which had served him well over the years. You never could stand to disappoint him. He knew it. He played on it. He could extract information from you within seconds. 

You cast your gaze downwards, unable to look him in the eye, and intertwine your fingers in your lap. 

“I asked you for an explanation. So far, no one's talking!” he snaps. 

You flinch at his hard tone, afraid to utter the words you kept so close to your chest for so long. You knew you had to come up with an explanation at some point. Any explanation.

“Can I talk to you in private?” you mumble quietly. 

He grits his teeth. “This ain't how this works, sweetheart,” he rumbles in reply. 

“I don't think you want the entire room to know, De. This is between us. I’ll talk to Sam later.”

Dean snorts. “Nope. I’m a big boy. I can take it.” 

Your anger is sufficiently stirred. You set your jaw and stare up at him definitely. “Fine,” you spit. “After you and I fucked like demonic weasels after one too many drinks at that sleazy dive bar, I panicked, made a stupid decision, and spent the next five years killing my way across the great US of A. Are you happy now?” 

Deans face drains of color, and he shifts uncomfortably from one leg to the other, fingers twitching at his sides.

“What?” Sam exclaims. 

Dean squeezes his eyes tightly shut before he explodes in a rage fit so epic, you’re pretty sure hell itself heard it. “Five years? You left for five years because your feelings got hurt after a quickie in a shitty motel room? What in the hell are you talking about?” he seethes. “I told you it changed nothing. I told you it meant nothing! It was a mistake! A mistake we could’ve fixed if you talked to me! Instead, you ignored me for days and then took off in the middle of the night. What the hell?” 

You suppress the urge to recoil from his words and mask the hurt they caused with bravado. You want to cry, you want to scream, but not in front of him. Never in front of Dean. Instead, you go on the defensive.

“I’m not you, Dean! I’m not okay with whoring my way across America. I would have preferred not becoming one of the notches on your belt. Another Dean Winchester conquest. A nameless girl in a nameless town, nothing more than a warm hole for you to forget yourself in. Call me crazy, but being your flavor of the night was not on my to-do list!” 

He twitches, hurt flashing across his face before he schools his features back into anger and points a finger at your chest. “We needed you. The world's gone to hell. We needed backup, we needed family, and you bailed! You left Sammy.. You left-” he snaps his mouth shut, swallowing his words quickly. “You can’t be trusted.” 

His eyes don't meet your own, and somehow that hurts more than his words. Dean never avoided eye contact. He was a simple man, in some instances incredibly traditional. Chivalry and manners were in the forefront of his personality. Eye contact was big on establishing trust. 

“Oh, shut up, Dean! You know nothing!” 

Dean blinks before he rallies his anger magnificently “You-”

“I said shut up! Five years I’ve had your back! Gathered intel, kept demons off your ass. Hunted angels, Djinn, Vampire and Wendigo’s. Kept ya’lls suicidal asses safe! What? You thought that the demons suddenly forgot about you during the Men of Letters fiasco? The angels stopped hounding you when you went into monsterland looking for Mary? You think Rowena suddenly appeared out of nowhere when you needed her? What the hell kinda world are you guys living in?” Pacing angrily across the floor, having stood up from the bed as soon as you started screaming, you turn on Dean. “You ain't that lucky, De. Shit, your sorry ass would have been strung up on a rack in hell if I wasn’t covering it.” 

“I may not have been with you, Winchester, but I’ve made sure you suffered minimal injuries while out saving the world from the big bads. I made sure Sam knew how to cure you when you became a demon. I made sure Charlie figured out how to remove the Mark of Cain. I made deals, I bled, I did things I’m not proud of. For family! You don't believe me? Ask Cas. He was with me for most of it.” 

Dean looks questioningly at Castiel, his face an open question.

Cas sighs. “It’s true. (Y/N) and I have been working together for years. You and Sam have a knack for dying at the most inopportune moments.”

“Thanks, Cas,” Sam adds sarcastically. “Why didn’t you call? Text? Anything? We thought you were dead. I mean, I tried to find you. There was no sign of you.” 

Dean looks at his brother accusingly, the latter pointedly avoiding his gaze. 

“I didn't want to distract you, Sammy, and I just up and left, no explanation. I didn’t think you’d be all that happy to hear from me.”

“It doesn’t change anything,” Dean interjects hotly. “five years is a long time to stay gone, and I don't trust you.” 

You roll your eyes heavenward. “Lucky for me you don't have to. I’m going home, Dean. Thanks a bunch for the save. I’ll send you a thank you basket. Jack? You wanna give a girl a ride?”

“No! Wait!” Sam yells as Jack extends his hands toward you. “We could use your help.”

“Sam,” Dean warns.

“Is this about Lucifer and Michael?” you reply. Dean stares at you dumbfounded for a moment. “Look, boys, I’ll handle the creepers, you do the big stuff. I’m not subjecting myself to captain grumpy pants for a minute more than I need too,” you say, cocking your head in Deans direction.

“You’re really starting to piss me off (Y/N),” Dean growls lowly. 

“You seem to be under the impression that I give a fuck, Dean. I stopped caring what you do a long time ago. Sam is another can of worms altogether,” you snarl.

“Listen up, darlin’. We had one tumble in the hay. It’s not my fault you read more into it than there was. That’s on you, not on me. You let emotion get in the way of your duty. That ain't my problem. You can be mad at me all you want, but stop being a bitch.”

“That’s rich coming from the likes of you, Winchester! King of having a bug up his butt! I’m sorry I’m not good at using people, Dean. I forgot that’s your fox hole. Next time I lower my standards enough to let you touch me, I’ll make sure to keep my emotions far away from you!” you yell, shoving him by the shoulders. 

He takes a step backward, balling his fists at his side. 

“Oh sweetheart, there ain’t going to be a next time. There are plenty of women out there. I certainly don't need anything from you!” he yells back. 

Stung and wounded, you rise to the bait. 

“Then why the fuck did you come? Why didn't you just let me die! If I’m so worthless to you, why did you bother? I was ready to die! I was ready to leave your sorry ass behind! I was done!” you scream. 

Dean grabs you by the shoulders and shakes you once. 

“Because you do it for family! It don’t matter what they did, or who they are. When an angel tells you one of your own is about to be eaten by wolves, you drop the porn rag and haul ass!”

“Okay, guys. Come on,” Sam says calmly, trying to defuse the rising tension in the room. “Look. Lucifer and Michael are about to start a war. Michael wants to turn the earth into his personal kingdom, Lucifer wants us all dead. We need to work together to stop them. All hands on deck for this one.” 

Dean looks like he’s about to punch his brother, but he doesn't say anything to contradict him.

You knew you were going to cave the minute they walked through the door, no matter how deeply Dean’s words cut. You would defend them both to the death, but inside you were dying. Every harsh word past his lips killed your heart a little more. Every angry look he directed your way made you want to scurry into a corner and never come out again. You felt ashamed, you felt guilty, but most of all you felt hopeless. 

“One condition,” you mumble, directing your attention to Dean who nods for you to continue. “Dean keeps his opinions to himself. I don't want to hear about family, or the past. We do the job and then I’m gone. I’m not spending who knows how long on the road staring at your sourpuss.”

 

“Fine,” he replies stiffly. “You’ll stay at the bunker until we ice Lucifer and Michael. Business as usual. No personal stuff.” 

You nod. “Agreed. No policing me. No butting into my business. If I have other hunts to handle, you’ll let me go without a fight.” 

Dean’s face turns blood red, but to his credit he bites his tongue, not giving voice to the obvious tirade your words had created. He inclines his head and grabs his jacket which had been strewn carelessly over the back of a chair. 

“Good talk. I need a drink.” he mumbles. 

“Yeah,” Sam agrees. “I think we all need to blow off a little steam.” 

“Seconded,” you quip. “I’ll meet you at the bar on fifth in twenty. I need to get the stink of wolf off of me.” 

Sam nods. “Alright. Later,” he replies quietly, following his brother from the room, the two angels shuffling after them. 

You had the unnerving feeling this was not going to end well. Your heart was raw and beaten up. All you wanted to do was to cry and climb into bed. Instead, you were back with the two people you most wanted to avoid in the world, and the man you were in love with for most of your life hated your guts. The only solution was to get the job done as quickly as possible, and return to your existence without the warmth of the ones you loved


	6. Chapter 6

You stood motionless outside of the seedy bar you had agreed to meet the boys at. A rolling ball of anxiety lay heavy at the bottom of your stomach, sending wave after wave of nausea up your windpipe. You were acutely aware you couldn't do this. You couldn't go back to the way things were before, following Dean into the literal jaws of hell. You couldn’t put your feelings for him aside any longer. They were slowly suffocating you, leading you into the worst kind of situations.  
The reunion with the boys had not gone well, even by your own standards. You had caused so much despair and heartache for them both. Sam had a hard edge to his eyes that hadn’t been there before you left. Dean carried a violent edge to him, one you only ever encountered on hunts. One which now seemed ever present. So much had happened in these five years, they had endured so much without anyone to balance them out.   
There was no one to take the whiskey out of Dean’s hands. There was no one to force Sam to sleep for more than three hours at a time.  
There was no one to ground them after they lost a victim.  
Turning your head to the left, you scan the area for an understated car that would easily fly under the radar, given a license plate change. Staying with Dean and Sam at the bunker while you dealt with the Lucifer and Michael mess would surely distract them. They needed to be focused and sharp for the upcoming war. It wasn't like you could offer any special talents that would miraculously save the world. If anything you would screw the pooch in the most spectacular way possible.  
Your gaze lands on a muted blue pick up truck. Reliable. Common. Would go unnoticed by the police and other hunters. Your feet begin to move toward the vehicle, your monkey brain has firmly taken over and the dial seems to be stuck on flight.   
You know what you’re doing is right up there with abandonment. You know any chance of establishing a relationship with Sam and Dean would go down the crapper if you bailed. You also know you can’t help yourself.  
Time and space away from them did not change your pathological need to avoid any overwhelming emotions. Dean’s words had merely enforced your belief you meant nothing to him. You were one of the notches on his bedpost, nothing more than an easy fuck when he couldn’t be bothered to put some effort into pulling a woman.  
Logically, this was complete bullshit. Dean was a good man who treated women with respect. But, emotionally, you couldn't see past the wounds his words had created. Giant, hulking craters burned deep into your soul. You needed out, you needed to get as far away from him as you possibly could.  
Traitor. Betrayer. Run. Fast.   
The words reverberate off the inside of your skull, hissing at you accusingly, replaying the hurt on his face over and over again. There was no reprieve, no escape from the terrible wrongs you had committed against them. It no longer mattered how much you missed them. It no longer mattered how badly you wanted to be with them once more. You were a poison. A sickly, festering wound they didn't need.  
Before you realize what's happening, your reaching into your hair for a bobby pin to pick the pickup’s lock. Determined to get the hell out of dodge; to get your toxicity far away from your boys. They would be happier for it in the long run.  
“If you get into that car, there ain't no coming back, (Y/N)”   
Your fingers stall. Fear runs icelike through your veins. Your breathing stops entirely for a moment, caught somewhere in your throat. You feel hot and cold at the same time. Your legs itch to run, but he’s right behind you, and you can practically feel the anger radiating off of him. Afraid to move an inch in case it would set him off, you shut your eyes tightly as your ability to form a sentence goes right out the window.  
“If you leave, it’s over,” he says again.   
His rage is tightly controlled. Not a bit of emotion makes it through his facade. You know this Dean well. It was the hunter in him. He was unflappable when he got like this.  
“Dean I-” you desperately try and form an excuse, your voice is shaky and uneven to your own ears.  
“I’ll be the first to admit that I don't want you here,” he cuts you off coldly, “but I haven’t seen Sam this hopeful since mom came back. Either suck it up like a big girl or don't bother coming back!” he snaps.   
You swallow down the lump in your throat and bite back the threatening sob. You nod mutely and drop your hand to your side. The bobby pin clatters soundlessly to the gravel, and you turn to face him, avoiding his eyes entirely. That was a truth you couldn’t face. You weren’t ready to see the hate he held for you. Not yet.  
Dean’s shoulders relax slightly, and he folds his arms across his chest. He nods to himself and turns his gaze back to the bar. Clearly, he wants to get away from you as fast as he could, but not enough to actually leave you by yourself.  
Here stood the man who you trusted with your life for years. A man who fed you when John left you alone. One who saved your ass more times than you cared to count. He taught you how to fight and work on cars. Hell, he even braided your hair and fixed tears in your clothing.   
He was the man. He was the man you would have die several times over for. Even now, when he couldn’t look you in the eye and was clearly pissed enough to hate you forever, you knew he would lay down his life for you.   
Without hesitation.  
“I’m sorry,” you say softly, casting your gaze to the ground. “I’m sorry for the pain I caused you and Sam. I made a stupid call. I didn't know what else to do, Dean.”   
He laughs softly at your apology. A laugh laced with scorn. “We could have talked it out, (Y/N). We always talk it out. We’re family. Family sticks together.”   
You smile sadly and lift your gaze to meet his. The sadness you find in them breaks your heart all over again. “That’s the problem, De. I stopped wanting to be your family a long time ago.”   
Hurt flashes across his features briefly before he schools them back into neutral. “Can’t blame you,” he replies bitterly, and you realize he’s taken your words the wrong way.   
“No, that’s not-” you begin, but he cuts you off.  
“See you inside,” he mutters gruffly before he walks away, leaving you with a growing feeling of dread and a complete sense of hopelessness.


End file.
